


a pair of odd ducks

by jenna221b



Series: BT Tower Telephone Group A [10]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ducks, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humour, M/M, One Shot, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Third Person Omniscient, Post-Canon, Sentimental, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), St James's Park (Good Omens), duck lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26669101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna221b/pseuds/jenna221b
Summary: Aziraphale gifts Crowley a few more moments of the illusion that he has not seen anything. Then, he shuffles closer, and nudges Crowley’s shoulder again.“…What?”“Crowley.” Aziraphale is unable to keep the delighted smile out of his voice. “Were you talking to the ducks?”“No,” Crowley says quickly, sounding very much like someone who had just been doing so.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: BT Tower Telephone Group A [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937791
Comments: 23
Kudos: 116





	a pair of odd ducks

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Snowfeather](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26668126) by [Aethelflaed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/pseuds/Aethelflaed). 



One of Aziraphale’s more recent pleasures is watching how at ease Crowley is in their newfound freedom. Even from a little distance away, Aziraphale can tell that his customary slouch is now genuinely relaxed.

And then, he jumps—not a lot, nothing to give Aziraphale cause for alarm—and looks down. Aziraphale watches in bemusement as Crowley rises from the bench, bends down on one knee, and appears to be speaking to the air.

“Oh, hello. You lost?”

Aziraphale follows Crowley’s line of vision, and finds that there, by Crowley’s feet, is a little duckling. It flaps its tiny wings deliberately, reminding Aziraphale of how people wave in greeting.

“Don’t worry,” Crowley says, so warmly that Aziraphale’s heart swells. “Wait here with me, I can stay ‘til they find you.”

Aziraphale draws back slightly, not wanting to interrupt. He has never personally talked to a duck before, but he assumes that the etiquette of not disrupting a private conversation is universal.

“S’no good giving me that look,” Crowley says, in response to the duckling’s enthusiastic chirps. “My duck-speak is rusty.”

There is a very indignant quack. Aziraphale glances towards the noise to see a flock of ducklings fast approaching the pond’s edge, led by a rather anxious looking grown duck. He turns back at the sound of Crowley laughing.

“Oh, see, there they are—all lined up like the Von Trapps. Hmm? Oh, never mind. Just an expression. On you go! Mind you don’t wander off again.”

The duckling cheeps jovially. Aziraphale smiles at how Crowley keeps watch until it is reunited with its family, happily swimming in unison with them. Aziraphale finally nears closer. He decides that the egregious sin of Crowley having watched _The Sound of Music_ can wait for another day.

When Crowley spots him, he immediately jumps up and does a sterling job of sprawling on the bench as if he had never moved in the first place.

“Angel! You were _ages_.”

Aziraphale kisses him swiftly, certain he had been twenty minutes at most. Settling on the bench, and nudging Crowley’s shoulder affectionately, he replies, “Yes, well. Those tourists were _awfully_ convinced that my shop was a novelty Waterstones.”

Crowley winces. “Lunch and dinner out, then?”

“Oh, if you’re offering, my dear.”

Aziraphale gifts Crowley a few more moments of the illusion that he has not seen anything. Then, he shuffles closer, and nudges Crowley’s shoulder again.

“…What?”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale is unable to keep the delighted smile out of his voice. “Were you talking to the ducks?”

“No,” Crowley says quickly, sounding very much like someone who had just been doing so.

“That’s quite extraordinary. Only, I was certain I saw someone looking _remarkably_ like you—”

Crowley squirms. “D’you know you’re unbearably smug sometimes?”

“And you, darling,” Aziraphale says, overjoyed that he can now say such things without fear, “are incredibly sweet.”

“Alright, alright,” Crowley blusters. He’s blushing. “Don’t overdo it.”

They watch the ducks for a few moments, the flock swimming back into the centre of the pond. Crowley chuckles.

“I’m sure those ducks have heard some things over the years,” he says. “’Specially between us.”

“Well, they wouldn’t be the same ducks every time, my dear. And, in any case…” Aziraphale sweetens his voice into over the top innocence. “I thought they didn’t have ears?”

Crowley rolls his eyes, but then he’s suddenly grinning, like he’s just thought of something brilliant. “We could be legends, y’know. Passed down, from duck to duck across the generations.”

“I’m sure the ducks have quite enough to get on with without talking about us.” Aziraphale kisses Crowley’s cheek, still stained with a blush. “Come on. The ducks say, _do_ go away and have lunch.”

“Gosh, they said all that?”

“I’m afraid it was at a frequency only angels can hear.”

*

What Crowley and Aziraphale do not know is that, many years ago, all the waterfowl frequenting St. James’s Park experienced something of a phenomenon: they all became immortal. Perhaps it was caused by an angel’s miracled, duck-friendly breadcrumbs. That, combined with a demon’s extraordinary imagination, and his fondness for anything associated with his angel, surrounded the place with an infinite aura of love.

Either way, the ducks are all very grateful. They are equally fond of their peculiar non-webbed pair.

“They do have wings, though,” a lovely swan-couple point out (those two have been around since the _Victorian_ age, if you please).

“Yes,” the ducks agree. “We had been worried about them, you know. The waters seemed a touch rocky for a while.”

The swans nod sagely. “Ah, but the waters are still now. Took them a terribly long time to swim in the right direction. Still.” The swans glide across the lake, to help watch over the ducklings. “They got there in the end, just like us.”

**Author's Note:**

> the last of 3 fics I wrote for the BT Tower Telephone Event! this one was especially fun to write, the playfulness of the piece before mine was clear even in its redacted version, it was infectious! :D Thank you so much to the mods for organising the event, it was a joy <3


End file.
